


Gentle Goes the Night

by melagan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:00:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22313680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melagan/pseuds/melagan
Summary: John finally gets some sleep. Ronon and Teyla both experience things they can't explain. Rodney is no help at all.
Comments: 24
Kudos: 35
Collections: Story Works





	Gentle Goes the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the paranormal challenge at Story Works

John pounded his pillow with his fist and growled. Not that it helped with the frustration. Getting any sleep had been a real bitch over the last few nights. He flopped flat on his back and stared up at the ceiling, replaying the day in his mind. 

Being unable to sleep wasn't new. Not when someone didn't make it back. Every loss was unacceptable. Military or civilian they were all his people. But this last mission had been a real fuck-up. 

He held it together just fine as long as he could keep moving. But once the paperwork was done, the condolence messages recorded, and the memorial attended, sleep turned into a brutal bitch. 

Earlier today, he'd finished the extra paperwork for discharging his firearm (and shooting Ronon and Rodney in the process). Everyone was well on their way to back to normal, and John was faced with nothing else to occupy his mind. 

The mission to M1B-129 replayed itself over again in his head. Major Leonard and his team weren't coming back, all because of some damn mind-altering device. Worse, he could have lost his team the same way. He almost had. 

The ceiling wasn't getting any more interesting and he turned over onto his side, giving his pillow one last punch. "Get a grip, John and get some damn sleep!" He wasn't going to be good to anyone this way, let alone be ready for tomorrow's mission. 

The one bright spot was his team. They gave him his space and respected his decision to not talk about it. 

Teyla greeted him every day with a patient smile and an offer of tea. Other than a raised eyebrow, she let him get away with drinking the tea without saying a word. 

Ronon would no doubt be at his door at fuck-all early in the morning and make him stick to his running schedule. Ronon had never been one to get into a full-blown conversation and he wasn't now. Thank god. 

Rodney—Rodney didn't do or say anything. Not that anyone else would notice. Rodney stuck to the labs, and left John alone to work through stuff. It might not seem like much, but for McKay, it was practically coddling. 

John tried not to think about the Ascension machine, and he damn sure refused to even think the word _died_. No, Rodney had just been really sick for a while and was doing _fine_.

He punched his pillow again. It would be better in the morning. It had to be. Finally, just as midnight rolled around, John crashed into an exhausted slumber. 

***

Teyla finished wiping down her bantos rods and put them back on the shelf. Today seemed too long with too many hours given to an already long afternoon. She sighed.

She'd put a great deal of hope in Elizabeth and the people of the Atlantis expedition. Her head told her she'd made the right decision, but her heart was still filled with worry. The last thing she wanted was for her people to think she'd abandoned them in favor of the 'Lanteans. 

That uncertainty preyed on her mind more than usual of late. Neither practicing the katas or mediation had helped today so she decided to visit the science labs. Oddly enough, it helped. Surely, the city of the Ancients with its advanced technology must have a way to defeat the Wraith. Believing so, how could she have made any other choice?

As she headed towards the lab an unusual thrumming caught her attention. Following the sound by running her hand along the wall as she walked, the vibration led her to an uninhabited tower. To her surprise, Rodney was there busily working on one of the consoles.

"Rodney? I did not expect to see you here."

"Teyla?" Without lifting his head from his work, he snapped his fingers "Pass me the screwdriver."

Bemused, but not surprised, she passed him the tool. "Rodney, is this where the sound is coming from?"

Startled, Rodney looked up at her. "You heard something?"

"Yes! It sounds like…." She shook her head. "It reminds me of the song my father used to play at the gathering festivals." The memory brought a gentle smile to her face. "It is a celebration welcoming home those returning from a long and successful hunt."

"You’re hearing music?" 

"Yes, Rodney. Although, perhaps it’s better to say I can feel it. A hum or vibration, perhaps? I only know that I can feel the notes. That melody is what led me here."

Rodney cocked his head as though listening. "Hm. Well, I don't hear anything. One of the conducts that powers the shield runs through this tower and I came up here to adjust the field modulator. Trust me, if there was any kind of vibration or frequency originating from here, I'd know it." 

"Oh." She moved over to one of the windows and gazed out over the ocean. It seemed only she could hear the song. Teyla decided she would accept this as a gift. A reassurance that she would always have this connection to her people. 

***

Ronon wandered the halls of Atlantis, keeping his footsteps light and his senses on alert. Not that he expected trouble. This late at night the halls were usually empty, but these habits were too deeply ingrained to change. 

Over the years, he'd become an expert at pushing his loss aside and getting on with the business of killing Wraith. Tonight though, tonight there was ache in his chest that wouldn’t leave. 

As much as he’d hated them, his scars had been part of him for seven years. Ronon still marveled that McKay had healed them away with a touch. Ronon hadn’t believed it at first and he’d made Sheppard hold up a mirror so that he could see for himself. 

Ronon jogged down the corridor, his past sticking close to his heels. To his surprise, he ended up outside Rodney's lab. 

He stuck his head through the doorway and caught the scent of an old, familiar aroma. Ronon inhaled deeply and let the scent of warm koumiss-spice small cakes fill his senses. 

"What are you doing here at this time of night?" Rodney asked, "Has Sheppard got himself into some kind of trouble again?"

"No. Where did you get the small cakes? They smell like they just came out of the oven."

"You're imagining things," Rodney said absently. His attention was on the whiteboard full of equations. "And sometimes I wonder if I'm imagining this math for all the good it's doing me now."

"You still can't remember any of it?" Ronon asked as he walked around the lab trying to track down the smell. 

"What are doing? Are you sniffing things? Believe me, there aren't any small cakes or cookies or whatever it is you think you smell, here." Rodney picked up the empty coffee carafe. The crusty rings of burnt coffee were the only things remaining in the pot. "You're either smelling this or the remnants of a Bunsen burner experiment gone wrong. Neither of which is something you'd want to consume."

Ronon frowned. There didn't seem any point in arguing. He could still smell the spice cakes even if McKay couldn't. Maybe they didn't exist, but he wasn't ready to give up that tiny comfort of home. "Can I stay?"

"Suit yourself," Rodney turned back to the whiteboard. Chin on his hand, he continued staring at it. "If I could just remember…."

Ronon didn't mind being ignored while Rodney worked. It was quiet. Peaceful. He took a slow, deep breath, let the soothing aroma of home ease the tightness in his chest. 

***

John woke up feeling refreshed. He blinked into the early morning light streaming through his window. Poking at his sleep memories he realized with a shock that he’d slept without being haunted by nightmares. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. 

He gave the mattress a little bounce. Nope, same old military issued mattress. In his dreams his bed had turned into a mound of feathers and he’d slept cuddled by softest mattress ever created. 

Still thinking about that comfy mattress, John got up and stretched. God, he hadn’t felt this refreshed in the morning for months. Deciding to start the day with breakfast he pulled on clothes and opened the door. 

He spied Rodney walking down the hall. It occurred to John that this was the perfect opportunity to make up for some of those days when John needed to avoid him, and Rodney let him. 

It only took a few paces to catch up. "Rodney. Join me for breakfast?"

"Sheppard. Sure. I was just heading there." Rodney shot him a crooked smile and pointed towards the mess.

John fell into step next to Rodney; thoughts churning. This was ridiculous. There's no possible way…. He barked out a short laugh and ignored Rodney's questioning look. Because it was impossible, there's no way Rodney had anything to do with John getting a good night's sleep.

Yet…every time John casts a side-long look they're still there. A tiny trail of downy, white feathers clinging to the back of Rodney's sleeve.

~*~


End file.
